Twelve Day Ride
by drakonlily
Summary: Vincent and Veld work undercover in a hospital to protect one of ShinRa's executives. Lot's of sparks are flying.
1. The Introduction Incident

**The 12 Day Ride**  
**Day One**

_The Introduction Incident: Veld Michael Dragoon_

Veld had thought it would be an average intelligence mission. In fact, most of what they did was really intelligence gathering; one had to know what was going on with ShinRa. Turks existed for the sole purpose of informing the president, controlling information leaks, securing acquisitions, and protecting company assets. One company asset was spending time in Junon Regional Medical center and there was reason to believe his life was in danger.

It was only 12 days- the duration of a surgery and hospital stay- but he still had a page of medical terms to memorize. This one was probably the worst to watch because the only way to keep an eye on things was to get into the hospital. And Veld's education certainly hadn't covered this.

At least the apartment looked nice; it was one of those cheap, slightly shabby but not run down places. College apartments were used to tenants that could disappear, and so far the people he'd passed in the hallway were young. He sat down on the couch and got back to memorizing. Veld had always sort of wanted to attend college, but working as a medical intern was not proving to be his cup of tea.


	2. The Roommate Incident

**Day One Continues **

_The Roommate Incident: Vickalor Vincent Valentine_

It felt more than a little nostalgic to wander the intern dorms of a medical campus. Vincent wondered if he was old enough for nostalgia; something in the back of his brain started to giggle at the idea. He smirked along with it because sane people didn't laugh aloud at the voices in their heads.

After Vincent refused to work on the Jenova project his medical career was over. ShinRa didn't like to let go of people who worked in the labs. His choice had been clear enough, much to his parent's dismay. Vincent didn't feel ABOVE the Turks, really. Just horribly out of the loop. When Chief Tally handed him this mission, Vincent felt like it was a good opportunity. His partner didn't like him, but maybe this would allow Vincent to prove to Veld that he earned the degree that he had with his skillset and not by being Doctor Grimoire Valentine's son.

Veld also wasn't bad to look at, so it all balanced out. He pulled one bag along- no need to bring more; he'd be in scrubs most of the time- and had his laptop in a shoulder case. His roommate was already settled, sitting on the couch and looking puzzled. "Hey, Veld."


	3. The Initial Incident

Day One (Part 3)

_The Initial Incident: Valentine's Socks_

Veld's face clearly showed his displeasure. He'd mentioned many times that he felt that Vincent's job as a Turk was rebellion of some variety. "Are you on this assignment too?" Vincent always felt like the two were in some sort of mental pissing contest and this was not helping, "I wasn't informed that you were on this mission." Veld said the last line almost petulantly.

Vincent didn't respond immediately. He wanted to situate his room and put his supplies in the bathroom. One needed a ritual, his father said, even sane people tended to become unhinged with constant moving. Being not exactly sane, Vincent made sure to have his own little rituals. He just put a lot of effort into making them very common and extremely difficult to notice rituals.

Once he was settled, Vincent returned to answer Veld's question. "I thought it was in your mission report." With Veld one had to be professional. Vincent wasn't certain why Veld hated him; he only knew that Veld felt he was an idiot for being a Turk.

Veld scanned the document and his scowl deepened. Vincent watched the scar on the other man's face move along with the expression. "No, it wasn't, I assume it was a last minute decision then." Agitatedly, Veld walked into the other bedroom to unpack. Vincent sucked in a breath. Roommates were extremely common in college, but he had a feeling that Veld was unused to them.

Vincent sighed and flopped himself on the chair. He kicked off his shoes and socks and left them under the living room table. Words on the pages were difficult. Vincent swallowed and pulled out a small case from his pocket. He debated getting himself a stiff drink.

_A common component in people with schizophrenia is that they have certain visual limitations. Their brains refuse to focus on so-called "magic eye" problems to get any picture. They also are commonly colorblind or dyslexic. The use of corrective lenses can correct and help focus the eye._

He shook his head and sighed. It wasn't as if mental health issues weren't a common factor in Turks. They all had little quirks and ticks. None of them, save Chief Tally, were aware of his problem, however. Vincent simply wanted them to continue to think of him as normal. His partner wasn't the sort who accepted excuses and maybe he would consider mental problems just another form of excuse.

Unable to focus on his work, Vincent watched Veld as the man unpacked. It was possibly criminal to have an ass that nice. Maybe it was part of the fact that Vincent knew he had about a snowball's chance in Costa to get with said attractive ass. Veld's ass represented the unattainable or something to that effect.

Thankfully the terminology sheet was something he'd spent years learning previously. Vincent had his doctorate and had done this sort of internship before. It was a simple surgical internship, ER work. The mission report was new and was going to take him a while to get through. _Time to focus_. Vincent adjusted his glasses and settled in to read.

He didn't get very far before Veld spoke "They have me as a nursing intern, what are you?" Veld pulled a bit of a face at it. He didn't seem to understand that the nurses were really in charge and knew almost everything. Veld eyed Vincent's socks with a bit of a huff that would have almost been prissy coming from someone else.

"Surgical Internship." Vincent responded in a bored tone. "They must suspect a doctor or something of the like." Nurses typically had the run of hospitals. They were the jacks of all trades. It didn't make sense to have Vincent specialized like that unless they were particularly worried about whatever was supposed to happen to someone in surgery itself.

Vincent looked up at Veld from over his glasses. "I'll be able to report suspicious activities inside surgery. We're worried about one of the doctors then?" There was a reason his father was unpleasant on his reviews of Junon Medical.

"Well, the mark is having a procedure done. You're to watch him while I watch everyone else. Haven't you read that part yet?" Barely a beat went by before Veld then added "and are you going to pick up your socks?"  
Vincent bit back the urge to explain that reading wasn't his strong point. How embarrassing was that to tell the man who probably read long, deep, and difficult books about the status of man's soul? Medicine, Math, and Science were all exact and easy to understand. He sighed. Vincent didn't like feeling stupid. "I'm still reviewing the file; I'll get them in a minute."

Vincent hadn't ever lived with someone who was obsessive about cleaning. Lucrecia, when they had been together, was a little on the neat freak side but she was still a doctor and more than willing to let socks sit for more than ten minutes. Veld, apparently, was not. "Listen, I don't like to live in a sloppy place, and it may just be socks to you, but it can quickly descend into chaos. Just pick them up and go back to reading." It almost sounded like he was going to go off on a rant about the time that Vincent had used up half their bullet reserves in a single night.

To be fair to Vincent, the bodycount of that particular reserve draining mission was extremely high. He knew how important the files were to get through and read. Vincent wanted to make sure that his job was completed well. He really didn't give a chocobo's ass about socks. "I said I'd get them, calm down." Great, the fantastic assed and possibly literally minded Veld Dragoon was a neat freak.

"It will take you about five minutes, procrastinating on cleanup is how you end up with shit piled everywhere." Did he just twitch? Veld tapped his foot and crossed his arms over his chest.

Vincent cleared his throat to keep from snickering. "Does it bother you that much?"

"Yeah, it bothers me that much. Take care of it."

Vincent sighed; it was going to be a long twelve days at this rate. He thought a moment about it and then, paperwork in hand, walked to the kitchen and went through the automatic process of making coffee.

It felt comfortable, despite Veld's aggravation; glasses, papers, coffee, and the usual smell of 'college place'. "When do we leave?" It was probably in the report, but maybe Veld would get aggravated enough to just brief him and save Vincent the reading. "We start our internship tomorrow; you can read about who you're meeting. Not until the afternoon, so we'll probably have to make sure we have all our shit together before then."

So much for Veld giving the briefing. Vincent nodded. "We should hit up the outlet before it closes. You'll need nursing shoes or crocs and we both need scrubs." Vincent knew the medical world. He was completely in his element. It helped the fact that he'd be up till after midnight reading over the reports.

Vincent went over a mental catalog. He knew he needed new scrubs because they always ended up torn or lost, he had medical shoes, and he was going to wear them, they cost too much to be wasted. He also had a set of lab coats, but he wondered if his arms were too long for Veld. "I have a few lab coats, if you wanted to try one on?" Maybe being nice would help warm up his iceman partner.

"If I'm going to be a nurse do I have to wear a labcoat?" It was obvious he found that somewhat distasteful.

"Nurses do lab work." Vincent responded. "You'll need to at least wear one for clinicals over the uniform. That's when you're not in scrubs." Vincent responded. He was confused as to if Veld found a lab coat or being a nurse distasteful.

"I see. Well, show me this labcoat you have then." He tried to subtly kick the socks towards Vincent's room. The act wasn't successful, but it was definitely obvious.

Vincent rolled his eyes but did not pick up the socks. "Anything else you're OCD about?" He removed the glasses and put them back in their case while he walked to his room. "This one's a little big in the shoulders for me." He pulled it out and handed it over. The ones that he had worn as a scientist for ShinRa were red with the white logo. They wouldn't do for working as an intern again so he simply had his mother pull his old ones from his closet. It wasn't as if Vincent had been hard on his clothes. Well... that one had a bit of a blood stain...

Veld shrugged on the lab coat. "It fits well enough." He frowned at an unidentifiable stain. "And I just like cleanliness."

Vincent nodded. "If you want to borrow it you can. If not, they'll have them at the outlet." He slid past Veld and brushed the other man's shoulder in the process. "Ready to go?"

"It will do, but I will need the other stuff." Veld carefully hung the labcoat back on a hanger and took it over to his room.

Vincent waited in the living room. He didn't know what took Veld so long to get ready. Maybe he was still acclimating or something.

"Well, let's get this over with." Vincent nodded and opened the door for Veld. The other man looked at him strangely before a brief nod and leaving. It really did appear to be the start of a long twelve days...


	4. The Preparation Incident

Day One (Part 4)

_The Preparation Incident: Outlet Shopping_

Veld had realized that hell had a uniform. And it involved plastic gardening shoes with holes in them. The rest of the outfit was a horror, but those shoes in particular were almost offensive. It was true that there had been a time when he didn't have more than two gil to rub together, but that time was a long time ago and since he'd started making proper money Veld had slowly been replacing the evidence of poverty from his life. He had a nice couch. He had the best regulation dress shirts to go with his suits. He never went out of the house in anything that looked dirty--minus of course blood, and that couldn't be helped sometimes. He had a visceral reaction to these damned shoes and it was slightly embarrassing.

"Valentine, what are these?"

Valentine, his is typical annoying and regal fashion was wandering through racks and barely looking as he snagged items. He'd managed to find a shade of blue for the scrubs that wasn't impossible looking, though they did sort of look like the outfits they gave mental patients. Valentine's eyebrow quirked up, "those are crocs, Veld."

"Crocs? As in... they are an abomination. Tell me I don't have to wear those." Great, and he sounded like a petulant child now, which was the last thing he wanted to sound like. His partner probably wasn't bothered at all because he'd never quite had been under the limitations that Veld had been.

"You could buy the tennis shoes, but they really aren't as comfortable as crocs." Valentine didn't grab a pair, he must have owned some already. "After ten to twelve hours you don't really care that they're ugly." He motioned with a thumb to the way he'd come. "The sneakers are on the back rack."

"I will go with those then, because these are not shoes. They're..." He really didn't have words. Veld had never thought of himself as a dandy really, but he was just so terribly offended. What division of ShinRa came up with them? He'd have to go look that up.

The sneakers rack wasn't much more aesthetically pleasing, but at least it looked like rows of shoes. He quickly looked over his shoulder to make sure Valentine wasn't milling about behind him, ready to laugh as he struggled to find his size. He muttered to himself about the joys of finding a profession whose uniform was at least something with class. And utility. It wasn't like he hadn't gotten bodily horrors splashed on him before. Murder could be messy. That was a fact.

He found himself a white pair that made him think of something an old lady would wear, but at least the weren't riddled with holes. "Alright, where do I get the rest of the uniform?" A rack of scrubs featuring chocobos and cactuars seemed to stare at him menacingly.

Valentine snickered, because he was an ass, and adjusted his load. He pointed to the side. "Junon Medical requires that the nursing staff have one full set of whites and solid scrubs. They have blue, brown, and chocobo yellow." He paused and thought a moment again. "You should probably get one of the nursing kits too, they have odds and end stuff you usually only need once or twice."

He made sure to glare for the snickering, and went in search of the whites and the scrubs. Veld went with brown, because it was close to black, and wondered who on earth would wear chocobo yellow by choice. The nursing kit was kind of like a fun little grab bag of things that were poked and prodded into people--but disposable. He got two because he wanted to keep one for later, as this was useful sorts of things and for a better price than he would get elsewhere. Convenient.

"Alright, I've got it all, let's get out of here as soon as possible."

Valentine nodded. He led the way for a change and paid for his items and shrugged the bag onto his shoulder. Instead of waiting at the register, he turned and went out the door. Veld didn't worry that he would leave, but he did stop to wonder if the other man thought he'd be smoking in a space that he shared with Veld.

Once Veld had paid for his purchases, he went out to join him. Sure enough, he was smoking. Nasty habit, really. Veld had for a time, because he was a kid and an idiot, but he'd since seen the error of his ways and aggressively tried to get other people to see theirs as well.

"You do realize you're not going to be smoking in the apartment ever." Smooth as any sort of move he used on the job, he snatched the cigarette away. "So you might as well quit."

Valentine growled at him and pulled his pack back out. How in the name of Gaia Valentine managed to create that sound from his small chest was really beyond Veld's understanding. It didn't, however, frighten him. Valentine used his long legs to walk in front of Veld and bent his head to light another one. A cloud of white smoke blew over his head. "Let's stop by Giant Chocobo and get some food."

Oh, this battle had not been lost. Merely postponed. Food was an important matter. Veld settled on wrinkling his nose before getting into the car, in the driver's side because he only didn't drive if he was unconscious. "I hope your taste in food is better than your taste in shoes."

The kid merely snorted and got into the car, managing not to bring the cigarette inside through the clever use of angling and an open window. Smartass.

---

"No, we are not getting that many marshmallows, what are you, five?"

Valentine's basic food groups were sorely lacking. Not that he was a health food nut; he drank coffee after all. And he didn't mind a steak or two when the occasion called for it. But Valentine ate crap. No wonder he was so skinny.

"Seven." He tossed the marshmallows into the cart anyway. Upon inspection they were the ones that were shaped like rabbits. "It's getting cold." He responded as if that excused bunny shaped globs of sugar. How he maintained himself on sugar and alcohol was probably magic. Nothing else could properly explain it. He frowned at Veld's expression. "I've never cooked much for myself."

"Well don't expect me to serve gourmet several course meals for you, brat. And it's probably about time you started getting some life skills." He didn't mean for it to come out as patronizing as it did, but he was imagining dinnertime at the Valentine household. And suffice to say, it involved butlers and the sorts of things that Veld disliked.

Still, he didn't want to be a complete asshole. "I mean, you can't live on sugar and coffee alone. So we'll get a couple things that are somewhat pre-prepared and not made solely of dyes and sugar, alright?"

Valentine snorted. "I lived this long on takeout and marshmallows." Still, he did walk towards the frozen food isle. Not that he went to anything remotely healthy. He picked up something that claimed to be Wutain.

"No no kid. Stick to basics. That will taste like shit and is an insult to humanity." He picked up some precooked meat nuggets and a couple packs of vegetables. "You'll have to do a little prep, just not have to cut everything up and pick it all from scratch, got it?"

Great, was he going to have to teach this kid everything about adulthood? "That way you won't regret it when you're older and don't burn off things as easily."

There was something that tended to flicker behind Valentine's eyes when his brain wandered into whatever Valentine Land was like. He shook his head. "I don't think that will be a problem for me, Veld." He didn't, however, argue. "I can follow instruction, I just don't do well when I have to throw things together." He shrugged and took stock of the cart one more time. Veld didn't quite realize how much two people could eat. It had been a long while since he'd gone shopping with someone. Vincent slid into the line before Veld and started unloading the cart. Before Veld said anything, he flipped up a card to pay for the items.

"We're covered on expenses like food, you know. No need for you to pay for them yourself." That and he didn't want to owe him anything. He handed the cashier the Shinra expenses card that he had and pushed Valentine's attempts at paying aside. "They didn't give you one, of course, because you're still mostly a rookie."

The kid made a face, but complied.

"It's not like it's a lot of money, silly to use the ShinRa card for it." Valentine said. One thing about him, he never muttered or stuttered, If Vincent Valentine said something it was clear and in the open. Confrontational. He did ask for a pack of smokes and handed over the cash for those items.

"Now that won't be covered. You kill yourself on your own gil." Economics was not going to be the way to get him to quit. Veld eliminated that tactic and crossed it off his mental list. "And it's not silly, it's a legitimate expense on all undercover missions."

Cigarette burning in his mouth, Valentine shrugged. "They pay me to try to kill myself every day." Thankfully they had moved the conversation to the parking lot long before. Veld wouldn't mention undercover in front of a clerk at the Giant Chocobo. "At least, I thought that was the idea."

"Wrong. You're an investment. You've at least got to give them your most useful years." God, he didn't need some teen angst fatalism bullshit. Because seriously thinking about those sorts of things was distracting from what they were really doing. "And I don't want to die on account of second hand smoking because you've got an attitude problem."

He rolled his eyes again. "I'll smoke on the damn balcony, but I'm smoking." He bit down on the filter in what appeared to be an attempt to stop arguing.

"Not in the car."

Again, no a verbal response, and no talking for the rest of the ride.

---

Veld decided that the argument wasn't done once they go to the complex. Especially considering that Valentine thought it prudent to light up again as soon as they were no longer mobile.

"You're going to get ash all over the groceries. That's unsanitary."

"Actually ash is extremely clean. It used to be used to help mend wounds because the property is basically a charcoal substance." Valentine responded. He managed to loop his hands into more bags than expected. Smoke filtered out of his nose. "So try again, Velly."

Fucker was using science against him. "Well you're getting the smell all over the place and that's unpleasant." Veld carried more than he usually did, if only to not look weak in comparison. The kid had a crazy reach that was probably why he could do that. "That and I outrank you."

The outranking argument was weak, but he could use it at least.

"If your argument made any logical sense, I'd agree to it." Valentine used his knee to push the handicap entrance to the apartment building. "However, I find your ash argument lacking as that stain looks far less appealing than my cigarette ash. Further, you can't outrank me for the entirety of our life together or we'll both go crazy."

"Who said we're long term? Hell, tomorrow Tally could come to her senses and give me an actual helpful partner that listens to what I say." Entirety of their life together? He was talking like they were dating or something. "Or at the very least someone that respects me in the manner they should."

"Oh not this again, I give you _plenty_ of respect, Velly." Valentine snapped at him and smashed the cigarette out in the tray before they crossed to the elevators. "You have to be respectful if you want to be respected." He pushed the button on the lift as well. "Every time I disagree with you is not me disrespecting you. You may, in fact, not always be right."

"But I may in fact be right sometimes, and it's not your place to be constantly questioning that. You've given me attitude from day one, punk." How it had evolved from a simple argument about smoking to this thing, Veld had no idea. The elevator felt cramped with his tall gangly form in it, and he was glad when it finally opened to let them out.

"You're lucky you're not in SOLDIER or something more militaristic. Your ass would be toast."

"My ass would be fine thanks for your concern about it." Valentine wasn't relenting at this juncture. "I don't know, I figured partners were long term. At least they are in my world. Really, you've got a stick up your ass about little shit. You don't like that I smoke, you don't like my job, you don't like my socks." Still loaded with bags, Valentine wasn't able to open the door.

Veld set down one of his bags so that he could open it. "Long term? I sincerely hope not. I hope you are a very brief stint and I get someone that listens better. Maybe cuter." He added that last part with a bit of a smirk.

Something crossed Valentine's face. "Whatever, you don't seem to complain too much." He crossed in front of Veld and went into the apartment, half heatedly shutting the door behind him. He didn't push it hard enough to close it.

Veld could feel someone watching him and he turned. A young woman with cropped blonde hair squeaked. "So-sorry for eaves dropping. I just heard you two arguing. You shouldn't tease like that."

He raised an eyebrow. "Tease, ma'am?" Great, Valentine had turned this into a scene now. And there was the audience.

"Yes. It's not nice to talk about exchanging people." She looked like she almost wagged a finger at him. "Your voice carries." She muttered something about 'calling him valentine' and turned into her own apartment and shut the door. That was odd. He wondered if Valentine knew how to put food away and hoped that he wasn't sitting on the counter gulping down marshmallows.

Thankfully, when he'd gotten all of his bags inside, the kid was actually being helpful. "The neighbor thinks I shouldn't tease you. She does seem nice enough though, even if she's a little nosy."

He had finished putting food away before Valentine responded. "I suppose she's right." He then opened a bag of the marshmallows up and pulled one out. "And I suppose you'll have that, at least she's not blasting her stereo." He then bit the head off of the bunny and handed the backside to Veld. "Peace offering?"


	5. The Confusion Incident

Day One (Part Five)

_The Confusion Incident: Trying to Work_

Vincent was a little shocked when Veld took the marshmallow bunny's rear end willingly. Vincent didn't mention it. Instead he got up and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and poured a glass. "I'm going to finish reading the report then." He dropped one cube of ice into the glass and slid past Veld and into the chair. His argument with Veld reverberated in the back of his brain. It seemed to almost shake the words along the page. They snaked about in front of his eyes and flipped about upside down and in reverse directions. This had been the bane of his college life, letters and words as they danced around the page in front of him. He would record lectures, spend hours on end trying to read and almost a month on every paper he'd ever written. Three months on his senior thesis. Vincent didn't want to get the help in the tutoring labs. Grimoire Valentine's son would never go to a tutor.

It was something he had learned to work through. It took time and dedication, but he worked. Vincent certainly wasn't anywhere near telling his partner who was looking for an excuse to see him fail, who thought he was stupid and worthless, know that he was dyslexic. That sort of thing, that needing help was a weakness that he couldn't afford to show. He would rather spend hours on reading than let Veld have something to lord over him. His glasses helped him focus and the letters began to stop moving. Maybe this would only take three or four hours.

"The whiskey help your focus?" He asked with a creepingly suspicious tone, but not entirely poking at him. He bit off the rear part of a bunny and handed it over. "Always blurs my vision a little."

He chomped on the head of the bunny and thought of a way to respond. "I've always had a drink in the evening. I suppose I'm just used to it." He adjusted his glasses and continued to focus. He pulled a green highlighter out and slowly hitched certain words and places to help him read.

Veld slid into the seat next to him. "How long you think that'll take you?"

"A while." Vincent responded. He looked at Veld from over his glasses. He was trying to figure out if the other man was trying to find a way to leverage something out of him. If he wanted to work an angle or if he was curious.

"Ok then, I'll be reading if you have any questions." It was a knowing look that flickered in his brown eyes before he flopped rather ungracefully on the couch and pulled a book from the coffee table.

Vincent watched Veld stretch and found himself focused on the arch of the man's back. Vincent didn't know how the other man could go from being a hard assed rule hound to being almost warm. What questions would he expect Vincent to ask? He didn't respond and then began reading again. It was hard to focus with Veld draped artfully over the sofa like that.

"Would it be faster if I read it aloud to you?" He said it casually, almost like he was asking about the weather, not even looking up from his book or shifting out of his comfortable position. Maybe he was a mind reader or something. It was hard to tell with him, because he was razor sharp in his observations on some things... and then completely oblivious in others.

He paused. It would be faster if Veld read to him, however, that would be ... an admittance of weakness. He cleared his throat and got up to refill his glass. He took the glass and the bottle with him to the chair. "What would make you think that?"

"Your reports are always the shortest written and I've never seen you reading for leisure." Great, he was going to lord it over him. "You don't seem to like words." But he wasn't using that arrogant tone with him. Had the whole little peace offering joke really worked?

Who would have known that giving Veld a little ass would have fixed their relationship? "No, I do other things in my spare time and I thought the reports were sufficient." Maybe he could just pretend he was done and hide in room to finish the report. Vincent didn't quite know what to think about the situation. He took a long swig of whiskey from the bottle. "I'll make them more lengthy in the future."

"Do you always pretend like you're perfect or is that pathologically ingrained into you." Well, he was being direct. He even stopped lounging, and set the book down. That disciplinarian tone crept back into his voice.

"Fuck off." Vincent growled. He could feel Hellmasker rolling around his brain, making horribly inappropriate comments about Veld that he admitted to sharing. Vincent didn't need Veld, who if he had managed to see correctly, was reading a book by some Wutain philosopher, to lord that over him. He already competed in nearly everything. It was difficult to consistently be on such uneven ground. He wasn't used to people joking with him the way that Turks joked. Half the time he didn't know if the name "Spooky" was in jest or not. He shouldn't have thought that Veld would turn the TV on and go off into his own world. Veld had no common reaction. How was he supposed to figure out how to respond to Veld if Veld had no consistency?

"I am just trying to point out the difference between academia and where you are now. Some things you can fake, but others you don't." Alright, now it wasn't the stern tone. Inconsistent bastard. "We do evaluations not to prove how good we are at things, we do them in order to understand what the weaknesses are. It's a part of teamwork. You shouldn't let your ego drive you so much."

Ego? Where the hell did he come off talking about ego? Where were his weaknesses if he was so keen on ferreting out his?

"What part of 'fuck off' aren't you computing?" Vincent snarled. Veld's presumptions were starting to really rub his nerves raw. _I know what you'd want to have raw..._ Vincent shook his head and thought quite firmly to Hellmasker to shut his mouth. "I'm getting fucking sick of your attitude." Another swig of the whiskey. Did he kill half the bottle already? He tossed the report down on the table. He'd just read it in his room. It wasn't like he couldn't do an internship on little to no sleep. He'd done it before.

Veld picked the report up, calmly turned the page, and started reading it aloud as if Vincent hadn't just told him to fuck off. When he was done he set it down and looked directly at him. "You're still thinking like this is academia. No one gives a shit here if you can't read, so long as you fess up to it."

The growl that rumbled in Vincent's chest didn't come from him completely. "I _can_ read."

"Not very well, obviously, _what is the problem?_" The last part of the sentence he emphasized with slightly forceful palm slap on the table. But he wasn't angry. Just what was his deal? Didn't he want him gone? Wouldn't this just be the edge he needed?

"I'm not giving you anymore ammunition." Vincent snarled. He had no idea how thin the ice that he was on with the Turks, Veld had him worried that he'd be turned backed over to the science department and it wouldn't be in his prior work capacity. Maybe it was minor paranoia. At least in the labs the competition was out in the open, not subversive. He didn't know what Veld's game was. "I don't know jack about you other than you're fucking perfect."

Veld sighed. "Here, is there any whiskey left?"

Vincent looked down and lifted the bottle. There was enough in Vincent for the voices to subside. It was safe for him to stop. He'd just read the report tomorrow. "Yeah, about half a bottle." He offered it over and propped his feet up on the table.

Veld took a swig. "I'm more experienced, but not perfect. Alright? Let's get that out of the way." And another. "Your problem? Is you can't get your head out of your father's ass and start your OWN reputation." He swaggered over to the couch and sat down, keeping the bottle to himself.

Vincent slammed the glass down on the table. The thick crystal cracked but he didn't pay any attention. He measured his tones and tried to make himself sound less angry than he was. "What. The. Fuck. Did. You. Just. Say?"

"You heard what I said." He looked very calm despite the loud bang from the table.

There was little Vincent could say. Obviously Veld had already made his mind up about Vincent, the truth wouldn't change any of that. "Must be nice from your high horse. How about this, stop fucking acting like you know shit about me?" It sounded childish, something a kid would say before slamming the door. Vincent had never attended highschool, never really had normal tantrums, but he'd seen them in real life and on the television. "Let me guess, I'm obviously some stupid talentless illiterate who got by on his father's name and money, right? Maybe I have a drug habit too? Throw whatever else you want on there, it'll make you feel superior and you seem to get off on that." He stood up and didn't bother taking his glasses off. "I'm going outside to smoke." He walked swiftly to the door of the balcony and tried to open it without slamming the screen.

Veld followed him out onto the balcony, but didn't say anything for a while. It was unnerving and Vincent almost said something again when he finally spoke. "You're not talentless. Just a shit."

To be honest, Vincent was starting to suspect that Veld had his own mental problems. Not that he knew the man enough to make a full assessment yet, but bipolar was creeping onto the list. Also, he had an aggravating way of following. Vincent began to suspect that even if he had left to go into his own room and read that Veld would have followed him. If Vincent could pinpoint a reason for the other man's insatiable curiosity maybe he'd feel better. "What's your deal with me, honestly?" It wasn't so much a question as a demand.

"No matter how much I complain I get assigned to you, so I might as well try figuring you out. You're the one that's getting all upset." He offered the bottle, which was about a fourth full now.

So what was his angle? Maybe if he found the weakness that he'd get Vincent cut from the Turks? It didn't seem to be much of Veld's style. However, Veld took the Turks more seriously than he did his own life. If he felt like Vincent wasn't worthy of their ranks, of course it would make sense to remove him. "I'll see if Tally can transfer me." He said, tossing back more of the whiskey. At least they didn't have internship tomorrow, just Tuesday, Thursday and the weekends this week. Next week was a suicide, however, and Vincent was almost looking forward to it. Despite everything, he'd loved ER and surgery. Vincent had a natural aptitude for it.

He never regretted anything more than going into the more difficult job of ShinRa Genetics. Even if his father would have been disappointed, it had to beat getting drunk and playing a game with your life with an assassin that hated you on a balcony. He handed the bottle back to Veld. "Not like you're easy to figure out."

"You really should get transferred. This isn't your kind of work." He really didn't like talking about himself, obviously. "Do something more cerebral, use all that college educating."

The laugh that comment produced was bitter and shocked Vincent. He was typically laid back, he had to be in control of the sounds that danced about his head and screamed at times for blood. Being emotional was completely unlike him. "You honestly think I wanted this?" He walked closer and pulled the bottle from Veld's hands. "Just because you don't fucking hear me whining and bellyaching doesn't mean I picked this. It's the cards I got dealt and I'm dealing. I have shit to handle and can't run off right yet." His elbow brushed Veld's as he tipped the bottle back. Vincent could drink, probably a result of the experiments, but even then, he knew he was quickly getting to the limit where his guards would be down.

The other man seemed to have a thing about proximity though. His breath quickened and he visibly swallowed. "Well just try not to step on anyone's toes during your time here then. And if you've got a problem with something, don't hide it." His hand curled around the neck of the bottle.

"If people keep getting in my way then I can't help if I step on them." He focused on the crook of Veld's neck, the soft, exposed skin that rose up to meet his jawline. "And we don't have time to deal with my problems." Vincent put his hand over Veld's on the bottle. His intention had originally been to take the item and finish it, but that wasn't what he found himself doing.

"Well don't get in my way. I do worse than step on people." Veld was reacting in a manner that was completely unexpected. Unpredictable. Vincent had to make sure he wasn't having another vivid fantasy. Sometimes reality didn't match up with his mind. But that was certainly Veld's other hand sliding down his chest.

The bottle was mostly empty anyway, Vincent's hand snaked quickly, squeezing Veld's thumb down against the palm. When the other man let the bottle go it clanged loudly on the balcony but didn't shatter. Whiskey spilled a little, but it was ignored. Veld's hand slid under his pants line around the same time Vincent bit that tempting place against Veld's jaw. They stumbled back and after a struggle, Vincent managed to pin Veld's loose hand above his head against the screen door. He used his other hand to yank a fistful of Veld's hair back. His neck still smelled like shaving creme, but tasted more like sweat. He could feel Veld's heartbeat against his tongue. So much for mature conversation.

Veld's free hand worked his fly loose with a quickness that suggested he'd done this quite a few times. One more thing he was likely never going to talk about. But Vincent didn't care right at this point. And did Veld just... purr?

Yes, it was a purr. Veld also made an appreciative sound when his hand finally stopped teasing. Vincent snarled again and rocked his hips forward. One final tug on the other man's hair and Vincent slid his own hand down at Veld's belt. He was always too goddamn overdressed. Vincent didn't hear the screen ripping before it was too late. The item gave way under their combined weight. Veld's hand left his pants as Veld tumbled backwards. Vincent landed roughly on his knee, forearm and elbow. He hissed and his vision swam red quickly. That hurt far more than expected. Blinking, Vincent cleared his vision and looked down at Veld. "Maybe... we ... should go to bed." It was an open suggestion, but now that they were both rather rudely awakened, Vincent's bets for not going to bed with his hand were pretty much nill.

"We have a lot to do tomorrow." Veld picked himself up off the floor and acted as if nothing had happened. "Get some sleep."

Of course. "Right." Vincent didn't exactly know if this was better or worse than fighting. It was more confusing, that much was certain.


End file.
